


The Gunslinger's Call

by vindito



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: I don't really know what universe this is tbh, M/M, McCree is dead and a ghost, mccree is a ghost and is like 37 still but hanzo is like 30-34ish??? somewhere in there, not graphic violence but there's still somewhat graphic descriptions so tagging jic, not in the overwatch universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vindito/pseuds/vindito
Summary: Some called him ‘Deadeye’, others refused to name him, fearing for themselves and their loved ones that even whispering his presence, even a made up name was the same as calling him, leaving themselves at his mercy.He always heard, no matter how silent the call, and he always dispensed justice wherever he went.AU where McCree is a haunting spirit who takes pity on one Hanzo Shimada.





	

Jesse McCree had died a long time ago.

He was young, too young in body but not in mind. He had killed many men, women, children. Too many to remember the faces of, too many to keep proper numbers. He had lost track around the thirty two mark. Some say it was God’s wrath, finally coming to end his bloodstained tyranny. Others argued that it was a blessing; a horrible thing met with a fitting end: a bullet through his right eye, straight through his brain, clean out the other side, dead instantly. There was no funeral, his body cremated and ashes buried under a dying willow tree silently, almost as if he never existed in the first place.

People relaxed, the young man’s memory fading with time. Almost ten years had passed before the first person went missing. Then another, and another. Five people vanished and five were found, all dead, their bodies completely unmarred besides a red X over their right eye. No one knew what to make of it. Some claimed it was a sick psychopath, trying to follow in the footsteps of crazed killers. Others disagreed, some brave enough to think that maybe it was Jesse McCree again, he had never truly died and now they were paying the price for it. More and more mysterious murders popped up, each body creating more confusion than the one before. Each was marked the same and never had any other signs of physical injury. Some called him ‘Deadeye’, others refused to name him, fearing for themselves and their loved ones that even whispering his presence, even a made up _name_ was the same as calling him, leaving themselves at his mercy. He always heard, no matter how silent the call, and he always dispensed justice wherever he went.

\---

Bare feet soaked in blood, red footprints followed Hanzo Shimada’s stumbling onto a wooden balcony, the harsh torrent of rain barely audible over his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He couldn’t feel the bite of the water beating against his skin, his hot tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the icy rainwater and rapidly cooling blood. He ached, his muscles burned, and his heart was stony. The crimson soaked katana in his hands clatters to the floor, the blood splashing onto the wood, rain immediately rinsing the hardened steel. Hanzo turns around, the moonlight casting a long, eerie shadow from his body into the room he had just left, its dark form only being interrupted by the corpse lying on its side on the floor. Turning back around, Hanzo dashes forward and leaps over the balcony, uncaring about the pain in his legs from the fall, uncaring how much his muscles scream and burn and beg to stop, he doesn’t care. He runs and runs until he can run no farther, until the familiar walls he had once called home are no more but a silhouette hazed by rain and the night sky. He falls on his knees at the top of a hill and screams. No one hears him over the downpour. No one but Him.

The rain has stopped when Hanzo hears Him. He walks up from behind, no worries of being noticed, no care in his gait, the jangling of metal keeping time with his heavy steps. They stop a few feet behind Hanzo’s crouched form, his knees beginning to ache from his seiza and the cold night air. Raising his head up to stare at the moon, he does not turn to see the man behind him, uncaring of who he is or what he is here for.

“Kinda late for a yelling match with the rain, isn’t it? You look kinda beat up, you should go home.”

“I have no home to return to.” The words bite worse than he meant, though he wants to be rid of this stranger and left to wallow in misery alone. Three more footsteps, each somewhat closer than the last, the man stopping about an arm’s length away from touching his back.

“C’mon now, it’s freezing out. If I wasn’t like how I am now I’m sure I’d have died-” he lets out an almost amused chuckle at that, “and I can’t even begin to understand how you’re holding up in those torn up and bloody clothes.” Hanzo’s eyes widen in alarm. _So he can see the blood on my clothing then_. Curling his hand into a fist, he pounces, twisting his body around and aiming a low sweep at the man’s ankles, pushing upwards with his legs until his palm meets with the underside of the man’s jaw.

At least, where it should have been. Were the man Hanzo had been aiming at still be flesh and bone, he would have crushed his jaw, cracking his teeth and possibly causing the man to bite off the tip of his own tongue. Any normal man would be howling in pain, disoriented by the attack, blood streaming out his lips and down his chin and throat. This man was not alive, it was the only conclusion he could come up with, and Hanzo felt his psyche cracking, the edges of insanity tickling his mind at such an impossible phenomenon. Where his fist meant to crack bone only passed through the form of the man in front of him harmlessly, his hand and arm becoming icy cold wherever it went through the ghost’s figure. If he wasn’t in such a horrifying situation, Hanzo would have laughed at the appearance of the man in front of him. He was dressed like a run-of-the-mill cowboy, complete with boots, spurs, and a six-shot revolver strapped to his hip. Brown locks that may have been soft in another life laid thickly around his head, his worn-leather stetson concealing his eyes but not the grin on his face. He was almost handsome. Almost.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t very nice.” The cowboy laughs again, a sound that at first was warm and inviting, but now sent a violent shiver down his spine. “And here I thought I may let you seek redemption.”

“I am past saving. _Redemption_ -” Hanzo spits out the word, squaring his chest to the cowboy in front of him. He’s facing his untimely end; a quick response from the gods striking him down before he can cause more harm to others. “There is no honor in redemption, not for what I have done.” He pauses, glaring at the ghost in front of him before shutting his eyes.

“Do it then. Kill me.”

He’s met with silence.  A cold gust of air brushes past him and he shivers again. When Hanzo opens his eyes, the ghost is gone. Knees buckling in relief, Hanzo throws himself to the side, emptying his stomach on the grass. Turning away from his sickness, he curls forward, his forehead and elbows resting on the damp soil below him, breaking down in tears for the second time that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy thanks for getting through this! Came up with this idea literally tonight and wrote it pretty quick after, so I apologize for how short it is, and also if it's not the most polished. I didn't do a lot of clean editing on it whoops. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! I may continue it later but who knows!
> 
> Tumblr @mccree-senpai


End file.
